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320 pages, Paperback
First published May 7, 2019
Only in the Westside could a woman with blood in her hair stroll down the sidewalk on a weekday afternoon, wearing nothing but a slip and hearing only the chattering of a few far-off birds.Gilda Carr is a young woman who looks into what she calls “tiny mysteries.” Leave those murders for someone else. Big mysteries mean big problems and Gilda has had enough of those. Her mom died when she was a kid, and her father, one Virgil Carr, aka “Clubber” was not only the founder of a notorious Westside gang, he later became a notorious cop, vanishing in a notorious disappearance some years back.







“A waiter sailed by and I relieved him of two highballs. I offered neither to my new friend. The white lights of Broadway shimmered through the gin like gasoline in gutter water.”
“ 'He was petulant, my husband, like a chocolate-stained child who stamps his foot and insists he hasn't been sneaking sweets.'”
“ 'The Seven Bloody Fists,' I said.
'He called us that because we were too broke to buy gloves.' Aiken twisted his hands into fists, and the ancient cracks in his knuckles glowed red. 'All winter, our hands were the color of a bad drunk's nose.'”
“ 'But without the Copelands running back and forth between the two cities, the Westside will heal'
'Maybe. If it does, it will take some time before things are balanced out, and finding balance can be painful.'
'You're not the type who think things get better, are you?'
'Some situations are simply insane.'”
"I answer little questions. Those impossible puzzles that burrow into our brains like splinters and keep us awake at night. I solve the mysteries that spoil marriages, ruin friendships, and curdle joy. A murder is a dull thing. It simply ends a life. Tiny mysteries destroy us."
